


The Monster and the Nymph

by ReyloBrit



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Forest Sex, Halloween, Monster - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Rough Sex, Smut, Spooky, car crash, nymph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReyloBrit/pseuds/ReyloBrit
Summary: “The only monsters I’ve ever met were human, men and women.” He says.“Are you a monster, Ben Solo?”His eyes darken as they find hers and his jaw tightens. He steps closer, now so close he can feel her faint breath brush his neck.“Yes, I am.” He growls through gritted teeth.When Ben Solo loses his way in the forest one dark winter's night, he finds that monsters of all sorts really do exist.





	The Monster and the Nymph

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audbooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audbooh/gifts).

> Be warned there is a brief description of a car crash and the smut is a little on the rough side.

nymph

/nɪmf/

_noun_

a mythological spirit of nature imagined as a beautiful maiden inhabiting rivers, woods, or other locations.

monster

/ˈmɒnstə/

_noun_

a large, ugly, and frightening imaginary creature; an inhumanly cruel or wicked person.

….

Ben winds his car along the narrow track towards home. His headlines shine out fingers that whiten the road before him, and mist swirls in the light like curling smoke. Tall dark trees and bare hedges encase the road ahead in a tunnel of spindly branches, reaching towards him like skeletal limbs.

This lane is an old friend, yet never the same. Along it, he rode on his father’s lap and learnt to drive. Along it, he drove his first girlfriend home to meet his parents, and returned with news of graduations and jobs and promotions. Along it he drives now, once more, alone.

Tonight tiredness seeps into Ben’s bones. He is tired of driving, tired of this journey, tired of returning home. He pictures his parents curled up by the fire with a crossword and glasses of wine; waiting for him. And the tiredness overwhelms him.

He shakes his head and winds down the window. Freezing air frisks across his face, causing his eyes to water. A tear slides down his cheek, and as he blinks it away the road submerges underwater, blue and swimming. The hedges transform to swaying seaweed and the trees to lifeless coral. A giant and black fish glides around a corner towards him, its eyes glinting in the headlights. It opens its toothless mouth to swallow the car.

Ben jerks awake and quickly swerves away from the approaching bank.

His heart bangs in his chest and a cold sweat trickles down his neck. He shakes his head again, followed by his arms, his trunk and his legs, then switches on the radio. A muffled cackle fills the silence, no words or sound recognisable to his ears. Snapping it off, he leans forward in his seat, his chest almost resting upon the steering wheel, to concentrate on the ghostly road ahead.

This is the bend in the road where they hit and killed a rabbit when he was a boy - and he’d cried so hard his nose had run. Here, between these two trees, lies the track into the wood where he drove that same girlfriend, parking under the cover of the leaves and making out with her on the back seat. And here is the bush he’d hidden beneath when the voices of his parents had risen too loud and too angry.

He watches these spirits from his past swirl in front of him - his tear stained self, his long ago lover, his younger parents - his car a time machine drives among them - sending him flying through space - mesmerised by memory - until suddenly he stops.

His body flings forward, his neck snaps, his chest crashes into the wheel, his eyes fly open. He hears the thud of the impact, the crack of wood, the crunch of the bonnet. 

And time halts, dragging him back to the present.

One headlight remains lit, revealing the solid trunk of the tree that came to halt his journey, and the corpse of his lifeless car. Shattered glass and splintered metal glitter in the light that slowly dims and dies, leaving him in the blackness of the night.

He trembles, panting for breath. A pain spreads through his ribs, his neck and his shoulders ache, and his temples burn.

With trembling hands, he turns the key in the ignition. The engine spits and hisses but never comes alive. He fumbles for his phone. It’s well past eleven, and he has no signal. This track is so rarely used, no one will find him until morning. 

He will have to walk home. He knows the way, through the woods, he could walk it blind folded.

The air inside the car cools rapidly, no longer warmed by the heater, and he shivers, reaching into the back seat to find his jumper and his thick winter coat.

The car door, warped on its hinges, refuses to open, and he forces his shoulder against it, using the weight behind his large frame to force it free.

The air outside is even colder, and the muddy ground crunches with frost beneath his boots. He tugs out his black leather gloves from his pocket and pulls a woolen hat over his forehead, tucking his dark locks behind his ears.

He contemplates retrieving his bag from the boot, but he has his wallet and his phone, and there’s nothing of value in there. He can fetch it tomorrow - along with the wreck of his car.

Thick blankets of clouds cover the sky and smother the world in darkness. There are no lights to guide him, so he finds the torch on his phone, knowing that the weak glow of the little circle is all he’ll have to lead him home. As he begins to make his way into the forest, he remembers the tales they’d tell each other as boys gathered around camp fires - of travellers who left their cars to be attacked in the woods, savaged by sinister creatures, murdered by psychopaths. He smiles to himself. Ben Solo does not believe in monsters. He’s never believed in monsters, even back then.

He’s too logical, too calculating, for that. _Cold_. Isn’t that what Bazine had called him as she’d thrown her belongings into boxes? After he’d calmly explained the reasons he couldn’t marry her, presented the facts of their incompatibility. _You’ve no heart! _She’d screamed, slamming the door behind her. 

As he walks, the forest around him breathes not a word. Just his own heavy foot fall catches in the silent air, accompanied by the occasional snap as he snags an arm, or a scrape as he scratches a leg.

In the night, the trees seem taller and lengthier, as if they’ve grown under cover of the shadows. The path warps too, unrecognisable and unfamiliar, though he’s sure this way leads home.

He tracks the passing minutes, certain he must be drawing closer, and yet no welcoming lights of home arrive to greet him.

His eyes feel heavy again, his feet slow and the pain behind his brow grows fiercer. Is he lost? He doesn’t get lost. He can’t be - and yet that cold sweat returns - warning him of his folly.

He stops. 

Unsure what to do next, he takes a look at his phone, hoping it’s signal will spring to life. There’s nothing.

Then he hears it. Faint and whispering. A voice. 

He stills his head, straining to hear. Is there someone out there on this cold, winter’s night?

“Hello?” He calls. Nothing. He spins slowly around, screwing up his eyes to see through the black.

A glint catches his eye, like metal caught by the sun. Silver and shining.

What is it?

He stumbles off the path, hardly aware of the thick undergrowth grabbing at his feet. His hurried progress is loud and clumsy.

As he draws closer, the spectre takes shape, his eyes understanding the form.

A woman.

He freezes again, his mouth falling open, his mind not quite believing what it sees.

Her skin is pale and iridescent, as if this is where the moon has been hiding. Hair, the colour of tree bark, tumbles around her face, and the dress she wears appears made of shimmering starlight. Pinned to one shoulder, it wraps around her slim body like a second skin, revealing every curve to him. She leans against a tree, her hands loose by her sides, her dark eyes watching him. A faint smile teases at her parted lips.

_What is she?_ He thinks. _A corpse? A girl who wandered off the path and froze to death?_

He clears his throat, and she continues to gaze at him, waiting.

“Are you lost?” He asks, his eyes travelling down her legs to find she stands barefoot in the carpet of leaves.

“Are you?” She replies. Her voice is like syrup; rich and sweet and tempting. He thinks he could drown in it. 

His feet tread towards her but he barely notices, her face creeping closer.

“Am I dead?” He asks, touching his bruised forehead. “Are you an angel?” 

She tilts her head, smiling.

“What do you think I am, Ben Solo?”

He stumbles backwards at the sound of his own name.

“You don’t believe in monsters,” She tells him.

He forgets his fear, draws near again. The skin on her shoulder glints, beckoning him. The birdlike bone there quivering as her chest rises and falls, the outlines of her breasts visible through the cloth. 

As he edges cautiously towards her, she leans her head back against the tree and her hands grip the bark at her back.

“The only monsters I’ve ever met were human, men and women.” He says.

“Are you a monster, Ben Solo?”

His eyes darken as they find hers and his jaw tightens. He steps closer, now so close he can feel her faint breath brush his neck.

“Yes, I am.” He growls through gritted teeth.

He’s never admitted to that before. To the monster he keeps chained and restrained behind the man. To the dark and dangerous desires he hides deep within. In life, he wears a careful and respectable mask.

“Show me.” She whispers, up into the shell of his ear.

_A devil then, that's what she is, come to tempt me,_ he thinks. _Very well._

He bends down and his mouth finds her bare shoulder. When he sinks in his teeth, her skin is warm, not cold, and her hands come flying to his head, tugging off his hat so that her fingers can twist in his hair. As he bites her, she pulls so hard he feels his scalp lift from his skull and he removes his mouth. His eyes, glittering wickedly, admire the indents his jaw has left on her body, and he runs a black gloved finger over the mark.

“You’ve always held back, Ben Solo,” Her lips brush against his, her tongue flicking into his mouth. “You don’t have to now. You can fuck me as hard as you like.”

“I will.” He snarls, ripping off his coat and his jumper, wanting to feel her closer despite the frigid air. 

With one hand he pins her hip against the tree, and with the other, he grabs the silky strap of her dress and tears the seam so that the material falls away to her waist. He allows his eyes to wander freely over her naked chest, admiring the way her breasts arch up into the peaks of each hardened nipple.

He grabs at one with his hand and mauls at it roughly, while the other he takes in his mouth and lathers and licks until she’s coated in his spit.

“Your name.” He demands between mouthfuls.

“Rey.” She says, and the word echoes through the trees, startling a murder of crows, their wings cracking the silence as they circle up into the sky.

He looks into her face, and for a couple of breaths, he’s stunned by her fragile beauty. The curve of her cheekbone draws his fingertip along, the seam on his glove catching slightly against her skin as he traces down to her soft mouth, skimming over her gasping lips, before his hand lowers to her porcelain throat. He holds it in his hand, his thumb discovering the beat of her jugular vein, and he presses it fleetingly.

Her eyes are wide and electric as she watches him, that hint of amusement still there and driving him madder by the moment.

“What will you give me in return, Ben Solo?” She asks. Her hands, unlike his own, despite his gloves, are scorching hot, cinching at his skin as she strokes the hard planes of his torso, teasing at the waistband of his trousers.

“All of me.” He promises.

She laughs. Like a sound his never heard before. Like the sweet song of a siren tempting sailors to their deaths. “Is that all!”

“It is all you will need.” He counters, kissing her passionately so that her head knocks back against the tree and her body is pressed under his. The kiss she returns is all consuming, stealing his breath, sucking him into her. She’s snapping at the buttons of his shirt, pulling it away to reveal his own pale skin.

“See.” She says. “You’re a creature of the darkness. This is where you belong.”

He withdraws, placing his strong arms between them and he waits while she allows her dress to fall to her feet.

Completely bare now, she seems to light these gathering of trees, casting hazy shadows outwards in a circle away from them.

The monster inside him roars to break free, to snap the chains, and in a moment he’s upon her. His hands coarsely exploring everywhere; her mouth, her arse, her cunt. He’s going to take it all, as he’s always wanted, and this aspiration is going to let him.

She moans and whines, her skin so soft, her folds so wet. Her own hands, lips, tongue, teeth all over him.

The sounds they make are unworldly, no longer words - but he knows what she needs and what he’ll take.

Loosening his belt, he tugs himself free, wincing against the cold, and nestles to warm himself between her folds.

“Are you frightened, Ben Solo?” She asks, sensing his hesitation. “You know our bargain?”

But he could no sooner prevent himself now, than he could stop his heart from beating or halt his very breaths.

Nodding, he shoves her sharply around, his eyes like deadly snakes waiting to strike. His hand careens up her spine, and when he finds the base of her neck he grips her skull and jams her forward until her cheek is forced up against the biting bark.

Forcing her still, pinned by his tight hold at her hip and her neck, he spreads her legs and plunges between her thighs, up deep inside her cunt, until she’s taken him whole. He hisses into her ear as she whimpers beneath him.

Steadying her, he pulls himself all the way out until only the tip of his cock rests in her entrance, pausing to grit his teeth, he slams into her, the tree bucking and creaking with his force. Then he lets himself go completely, pounding with a wild and violent abandon he’s never felt before. Not caring about the obscene grunts that form within the very centre of his chest, or the spittle that flies from his snarling lips. 

To have a woman this way, commanding her, it’s everything he wanted - yet feared to take. Flames engulf his body, his hot blood races through his body.

He’s conscious of her own vague sounds, her mouth moving behind his steely fingers, the way her cunt clenches and sucks greedily at him.

They are two animals rutting in the undergrowth, unaware and uncaring of anything else.

He pulls himself closer to her, grasping at the tree trunk with both hands, his hips, his chest and his face all thrust up against her as he whispers filthiness into her ear.

The pitch and pace of her breath tightens, and all of a sudden he’s overwhelmed by the need to have her come undone in his arms. With his teeth, he wrenches his right hand free from his glove and spits onto his fingers before wrapping around her thigh and flicking at the little hardened bud he discovers wedged at the apex of her lips.

She begins to buck and jerk, wailing into the night, but he anchors her still, refusing to let her escape the pressure he knows he is building. She’s wild and so beautiful. Like nothing he’s ever seen or witnessed in his short, restrained life. 

Her slight hands struggle free and scrape at the wood above her head, her nails loosening the tree’s skin so it chips away in chunks as she digs to find purchase. He captures those hands in his left and their fingers tangle, while he works her with everything he has.

“Stay with me, Ben Solo.” She cries as her legs shake and her spine arches.

“Yes.” He pants, his tongue in her ear. “Yes....Yes.” He grunts with every thrust, and thump and strike.

Then he joins her in the darkness, where his body sings and his mind quiets, where pleasure ripples and spasms through them both, entwined and twisted, shadows in the night.

....

The next day they find the crushed carcass of his car; empty despite the impossibility of survivors. And yet, when the winter thaws, and the old, dead leaves decay, they find his coat in the forest, spring flowers sprouting through the buttonholes.


End file.
